Yours, Ours, and Mine
by Rosa Cotton
Summary: There is "our hobbit," and then there's "our hobbit." Yes, there IS a difference. Movieverse.


Disclaimer: _The Hobbit_, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J. R. R. Tolkien's estate, and Warner Brothers, New Line Cinema, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and WingNut Films.

Author's Note: Fill for a prompt on the hobbit-kink meme.

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Yours, Ours, and Mine

How was it not obvious to everybody except Dwalin? "Our hobbit," and "our hobbit." It was there, if one listened carefully and paid attention. The generalness of "our hobbit" used by the whole company (batty wizard included). Master Baggins was with the company their hobbit, their burglar – one of them. On the other hand, when Dwalin (and included by association, Balin) said "our hobbit," there was the faintest emphasis on the "_our_" (which translated to a loud, clear, impossible-to-miss **_MINE_**).

So how had everyone else missed it, _continued_ to miss it?! It was quite simple, really. Dwalin had arrived at Bag End _first_. So Master Baggins was _his_. He had worried in his gruff, intimidating manner about the hobbit's safety before Bofur went sticking his nose in with that sepal about Smaug. Dwalin had betted in favor of Bilbo's coming. He made sure no foul creatures got too near for comfort to the Halfling. He was the one who first checked on him after the troll incident. During the warg-scouts and orc chase he had waited jumping down the rock until first seeing Bilbo to safety.

Most of his fellow dwarves had known him most of his life. They ought to have caught on by now.

Instead, Dwalin observed with patience rapidly thinning (and nope, his scowl was definitely of anger, not jealousy) as Thorin watched in increasing consideration while his nephews frequently sandwiched Master Baggins between them at night. Ori…the warrior could not bring himself to be angry or frustrated with how the lad followed Bilbo about, brimming over with curiosity about their burglar's race, nor with how the dwarf saw in him the brother who had never completely understood him before. On the other hand, Dwalin did nothing to hide his growls, thunderous frowns, and death glares where Bofur was concerned. The cheerful miner was constantly bumping elbows with the hobbit, ruffling his hair, or walking with his arm around the Halfling's small shoulders while sharing jokes and exchanging stories. Aye, Bilbo Baggins would be cheerfully whisked off into another family if Dwalin was not too careful. It was nearly enough to make him want to bash his head against a wall repeatedly.

But the Durins, Ori, Bofur, none of them were as bad as the conversation the tattooed dwarf caught the end of, discovering Bilbo in the midst of a flock of elf maidens in one of the many hallways in Rivendell.

"—do say you will!"

"Yes, please take up residence in Rivendell after your journey is complete."

"And be our hobbit!"

The ethereal chorus in which those last two words were uttered (and by elves, of all things!) proved to be the final straw. Dwalin growled and rounded the corner before Bilbo had any time to react to the request, effortlessly plucked up the smaller creature, and made back for where most of the company had set up camp at a pavilion. He had had more than enough.

"Master Dwalin, that was rude of you! Put me down!" Bilbo blustered, clutching at his board shoulder. "Whatever are you doing?" he asked with a huff when the dwarf simply strode faster towards his destination.

"What I should have done weeks ago! Would have avoided all this…," he murmured grumpily into his beard.

Reaching the pavilion, Dwalin noted that all the dwarves and Gandalf were present. _Good_, he thought with satisfaction. He marched over to his brother sitting on a bench, aware of drawing the group's attention – what between his determined stance and the bewildered hobbit in his arms. He shook his head sharply before Balin did more than open his mouth to form a question. Carefully Dwalin sat Bilbo down in front of him, who held his peace, to the dwarf's gratification.

Other than the crackling campfire, the pavilion was quiet as Dwalin spent some minutes running his fingers through Bilbo's curls with surprising gentleness, loosening the tangles and removing the bits of twig. Once he caught his brother's knowing and fond smile before puffing on his pipe, and he ducked his head more over the hobbit's head, feeling heat mount in his cheeks.

Next he slowly, carefully plaited a braid into the Halfling's hair. He did nothing to conceal his wide smile as his sensed his audience's confusion and interest change to comprehension and a little disappointment in some cases. Dwalin had never worked with hobbit hair before, but the braid turned out well and unmistakable.

"I believe my brother has shared with you about the significance of braiding to dwarfs, Master Baggins," he commented.

"Oh, um, yes," Bilbo agreed, clearing his throat nervously. "Braids can indicate social status, grief, courtship, one's family…," he trailed off.

Dwalin nodded, "There are many meanings braids can have, based on the kind of braid, location, and clasp."

Finishing the small tight braid, he used one of his hair beads to clasp the end, along with one of Balin's, who offered it with a pleased smile. Dwalin then took Bilbo's hand, guiding it along the braid.

"This braid is for the family of Fundin, my father, indicating you are claimed by his kin. My and Balin's beads on the end mean we claim you as shield-brother and brother in our hearts," the warrior explained seriously. "Our hobbit."

A prick of uncertainly pierced his confidence when Bilbo twisted around to face him, eyes wide and blushing to the tips of his ears. "Your hobbit?" The Halfling's face scrunched up, due to displeasure or amusement, for it was never easy to tell. "Claimed by the In family, or…or by one particular dwarf?"

Grunting, Dwalin crossed his arms in front of his chest defensively.

"In which case," Bilbo's mouth twitched, "you could have just asked, instead of looking like you were considering ripping a few heads off, Dwalin. Family and friends are very important to us hobbits, too."

"Not all would delight in considering a terrifying warrior and a short, old dwarf as family, Master Baggins."

The hobbit laughed long and loud. "You should meet my relatives the Sackville-Bagginses! They don't like me very much." He rose to his feet, shaking his head. "But you I like," he claimed with a beam.

There was a brief pause during which Dwalin gazed unsmilingly and intently down at the hobbit. Then a relieved chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. He smiled as Bilbo allowed himself to be lifted onto his lap and encompassed within the dwarf's strong arms. They tolerated the many jokes and comments made at their expense. Among them were loud complaints from the princes and Ori's sincere, "Your braid looks very fine, Master Baggins!" accompanied by a sad smile. (In the morning his sadness was replaced by a wide and thankful grin when Dwalin assured him he need not forfeit his discussions on books, handcrafts, and gossip with Bilbo.)

"Just one thing," Bilbo murmured in the middle of it all. Dwalin instantly stiffened and looked guardedly at the little fellow. "Please, just call me Bilbo."

"Bilbo." The dwarf relaxed with a smile, hugging his hobbit closer.

THE END


End file.
